University of Virginia Library

Actus IV.

Scena I.

Flowrdew, Bird, Roscius.
Bird.
My indignation boileth like a pot,
An over-heated pot, still, still it boyleth,
It boyleth and it bubleth with disdaine.

Flow.
My Spirit within me too fumeth, I say
Fumeth, and steemeth up, and runneth ore
With holy wrath, at these delights of flesh.

Rosc.

The Actours beg your silence—The next vertue,
whose extreames we would present, wants a name both in
the Greeke and Latine,

Bird.
Wants it a name? 'tis an unchristian vertue.

Rosc.

But they describe it such a modesty as directs us in
the pursuit, and refusall of the meaner honours, and so answers
to Magnanimity, as Liberality to Magnificence:
But here, that humor of the persons, being already forestall'd,
and no Pride now so much practis'd, or countenanc'd
as that of Apparell, let me present you Philotimia,
an overcurious Lady too neat in her attire, and for Aphilotimus,
Luparius a nasty sordid sloven.

Flowr.
Pride is a vanity worthy the correction.

Philotimia. Luparus. Colax.
Phil.
What mole drest me to day? O patience!
Who would be troubled with these mop-eyd Chambermaids?
Ther's a whole haire on this side more then t'other,
I am no Lady else!—come on you sloven!
Was ever Christian Madam so tormented
To wed a swine as I am? make you ready.

Lupa.
I would the Tailor had bin hang'd for mee
That first invented cloathes—O nature, nature!
More cruell unto man then all thy creatures!
Calves come into the world with dublets on;
And Oxen have no breeches to put off.
The Lambe is borne with her Freeze-coat about her;
Hoggs goe to bed in rest, and are not troubled
With pulling on their hose and shoos i'th'morning,
With gartring, girdling, trussing, buttoning,
And a thousand torments that afflict humanity.

Phil.
To see her negligence! shee hath made this cheek
By much too pale, and hath forgot to whiten
The naturall rednesse of my nose, she knowes not
What 'tis wants dealbation! O fine memory!
If she has not set me in the selfe same teeth
That I wore yesterday, I am a jew.
Does she think that I can eate twice with the same,
Or that my mouth stands as the Vulgar does?
What? are you snorting there? youle rise, you sluggard
And make you ready?

Lupa.
Rise, and make you ready?
Two workes of that, your happy birds make one;
They when they rise are ready. Blessed birds!
They fortunate creatures sleepe in their own clothes,
And rise with all their feather beds about them:
Would nakednesse were come again in fashion;
I had some hope then when the brests went bare
Their bodies too would have come to 't in time.

Phil.
Beshrew her for't, this wrinkle is not fill'd!
Youll goe and wash—you are a pretty husband?

Lupa.
Our Sow ne're washes, yet she has a face
Me thinks as cleanly, Madam, as yours is,
If you durst weare your own.

Col:
Madame Superbia;
You'are studying the Ladies library,
The Looking-glasse; 'tis well! so great a beauty
Must have her ornaments—Nature adornes
The Peacocks taile with starres; 'tis shee attires
The Bird of Paradise in all her plumes;
She decks the fields with various flowres; 'tis shee
Spangled the Heavens with all those glorious lights;
She spotted th'Ermine's skin; and arm'd the fish
In silver male: But man she sent forth naked
Not that he should remaine so, but that he
Indued with reason should adorne himselfe
With every one of these. The silke-worme is
Only mans spinster, else we might suspect
That she esteem'd the painted Butterfly
Above her master-piece: you are the Image
Of that bright Goddesse: therefore weare the Iewels
Of all the East; let the red sea be ransack'd
To make you glitter, looke on Luparus
Your Husband there, and see how in a sloven
All the best characters of Divinity,
Not yet worne out in man, are lost and buried.

Philo.
I see it to my griefe, pray counsell him.

Col.
This vanity, in your nice Ladies humors
Of being so curious in her toies, and dresses,
Makes me suspitious of her honesty.
These Cobweb-lawnes catch spiders sir, believe it,
You know that clothes doe not commend the man,
But 'tis the living; though this age preferre
A cloake of Plush, before a braine of art.
You understand what misery 'tis to have
No worth but that we owe the draper for;
No doubt you spend the time your Lady looses
In tricking up her body, to cloth the soule.

Lup.
To cloth the soule? must the soule too be cloth'd?
I protest sir, I had rather have no soule
Then be tormented with the clothing of it.

Rosc.

To these enter the extreames of modesty, a neere
kinswoman of the vertues, Anaiskinthia or Impudence, a
bawd; and Kataplectus an over bashfull Scholar: where

our Author hopes the women will pardon him, if of foure
and twenty vices he presents but two (Pride and Impudence)
of their sexe.

Scena 2.

Anaiskintia, Kataplectus.
Philo.
Here comes Anaiskintia too;—O fates!
Acolastus, and Asotus have sent for mee,
And my breath not perfum'd yet!

Kat.
O sweet mother,
Are the Gentlemen there already?

Anais.
Come away,
Are you not asham'd to be so bashfull? well,
If I had thought of this in time, I would
As soone have seene you fairely hang'd as sent you
To' th'Vniversity.

Phil.
What gentleman is that?

Anais.
A shamefast Scholar Madam:—looke upon her,
Speake to her, or you loose your exhibition:
—Youle speake I hope, weare not away your buttons!

Kata.
What should I say?

Anaisk.
Why tell her you are glad
To see her Ladiship in health—nay out with it!

Katap.

—Gaudeo te bone valere—

Phil.
A pretty Proficient!
What standing is he of i'th' Vniversity?

Anais.
He dares not answer to that question Madam.—

Philo.
How long have you bin in the Academy?

Katap.

Profecto Do—Domina sum Bac—Bac—Bacohalaureus
Artium.

Phil.
What pitty 'tis he is not impudent!

Anais.
Nay all my cost I see is spent in vaine;
I having, as your Ladiship knowes full well,
Good practice in the Suburbs; and by reason
That our Mortality there, is very subject
To an infection of the French Disease,
I brought my Nephew up 'ith' Vniversity,
Hoping he might (having attain'd some knowledge)
Save me the charge of keeping a Physitian;
But all in vaine: he is so bashfull Madam,
He dares not looke upon a womans water.

Colax.
Sweet Gentleman, proceed in bashfulnesse!
'Tis vertues best preserver—

Kata.

Recte dicis, sic inquit Aristoteles.

Col.
That being gone
The rest soone follow, and a swarme of vice
Enter the soule, no colour but a blush
Becomes a young mans cheeke: pure shamefastnesse
Is porter to the lips, and eares, that nothing
Might enter, or come out of man, but what
Is good, and modest: Nature strives to hide
The parts or shame, let her, the best of guides,

Katap.

Natura dux optima.

Colax.
Teach us to doe so too in our discourse.

Katap.

Gratias tibi ago.

Philo.
Inure him to speake bawdy.

Anais.

A very good way; Kataplectus here's a Lady,
would heare you speake obscenely:

Katap.

Obscenum est, quod intra scenam agi non oportuit.

Anais.
Off goes your Velvet cap! did I maintaine you
To have you disobedient? you'l be perswaded?

Katap.

Liber is operam dare.

Anais.
What's that in English.

Katap.
To doe an endeavour for children.

Anais.
Some more of this, it may be something one day.

Katap.

Communis est omnium animantium coniunctionis
appetituus procreandi causa.

Phil.
Construe me that.

Katap.

All creatures have a naturall desire or appetite
to be joyned together in the lawfull bonds of Matrimony,
that they may have sons and daughters.

Anais.
Your Landresse has bestow'd her time but ill:
Why could not this have been in proper tearmes?
If you should Catechize my head, and say,
What is your name, would it not say, a head?
So would my skinne confesse it selfe a skinne;
Nor any part about me be asham'd
Of his owne name, although I catechiz'd
All over. Come good Nephew, let not me
Have any member of my body nicknam'd.

Colax.
Our Stoique, the gravest of Philosophers,
Is just of your opinion, and thus argues;
Is any thing obscene, the filthinesse
Is either grounded in the things themselves,
Or in the words that signifie those things;
Not in the things, that would make nature guilty,
Who creates nothing filthy, and uncleane,
But chast, and honest; if not in the things,
How in the words, the shadowes of those things?
To manure ground, is a chast honest terme;
Another word that signifies the same,
Vnlawfull: every man endures to heare,
He got a child; speak plainer, and he blushes,
Yet meanes the same. The Stoique thus disputes,
That would have men to breath as freely down'ward,
As they doe upward.

Anais.
I commend him Madam,
Vnto your Ladyships service, he may mend
With counsell! let him be your Gentleman-usher;
Madam you may in time bring down his legs
To the just size, now over grown with playing
Too much at foot-ball.

Phylo.
So he will prove a Stoique;
I long to have a Stoique strut before me:
Here kisse my hand. Come what is that in Latine?

Katap.

Deosculor manum,

Phylo.
My lip;—nay sir you must if I command you.

Katap.

Osculorte, velosculor ate.

Phylo.
His breath smells strong.

Anais.
'Tis but of Logick Madam.

Phylo.
He will come to it one day—you shall goe with mee
To see an exquisite glasse to dresse me by.
Nay, goe! you must goe first; you are too mannerly.
It is the office of your place, so—on.

exeunt.
Colax.
Slow Luparus rise, or you'l be metamorphos'd;
Acteon's fate is imminent.

Lup.
Where's my wife:

Cola.
Shee's gone with a young Snip, and an old baud.

Lup.
Then I am cuckolded; if I be my comfort is
She' has put me on a cap, that will not trouble me
With pulling off, yet Madam I'le prevent you.

Exit.
Rosci.
The next are the extreames of Iustice.

Scen. 3.

Enter Iustice Nimis, Iustice Nihil.
Plus and Minus their Clarkes.
Nim.
Plus!

Plus.
What sayes your worship?

Nim.
Have my tenants
That hold their lease of lust here in the suburbs,
By copy-hold from me, their Lord in cheif,
Paid their rent charge?

Plus.
They have, and't please your worship;
I Receiver generall gave 'em my acquittance.

Parum.
Sir I resigne my Pen, and Inkhorn to you,
I shall forget my hand, if I stay here.
I have not made a Mittimus since I serv'd you.
Were I a reverend Iustice as you are,
I would not sit a Cipher on the Bench,
But doe as Iustice Nimis does, and be
The Dominus-fac-totum of the Sessions.

Nihil.
But I will be a Dominus fac miserecordians
Instead of your Totums: People shall not wish
To see my spurres fil'd off, it does me good
To take a mercifull nap upon the Bench,
Where I foe sweetly dreame of being pittifull,
Wake the better for it.

Nim.
The yearly value
Of my faire manour of Clerken-well, is pounds
So many—besides New years capons, the Lordship
Of Turnball so—which with my Pick-hatch grange—
And Shoreditch farme, and other premises
Adjoyning,—very good, a pretty maintenance
To keepe a Iustice of Peace, and Coram too:
Besides the fines I take of young beginners,—
With harriots of all such as dye, quatenus whores,
And ruin'd bauds, with all Amercements due
To such as hunt in Purly; this is something,
With mine own Game reserv'd.

Plus.
Besides a pretty pittance too for me,
That am your worships Bayly.

Parum.
Will't please your worship sir, to heare the Catalogue
Of such offenders, as are brought before you?

Nihil.
It does not please me Sir, to heare of any
That doe offend; I would the world were innocent!
Yet to expresse my mercy you may read them.

Par.
First here is one accus'd for Cutting a purse.

Nihil.
Accus'd, is that enough? if it be guilt
To be accus'd, who shall be innocent?
Discharge him Parum.

Parum.
Here's another brought
For the same fact, ta'ne in the very Action.

Nihil.
Alas it was for need, bid him take warning,
And so discharge him too; 'Tis the first time.

Nimis.
Plus, say, what hopes of gaine brings this day's sinne?

Plus.
Anaiskyntia Sir was at doore
Brought by the Constable.

Nimis.
Set the Constable by the heeles.
Shee's at certain with us.

Plus.
Then there's Intemperance the baud.

Nim.
A Tenant too.

Plus.
With the young Lady, Madam Incontinence.

Nim.
Search o're my Doomes-day book; is not shee Plus
One of my last compounders?

Plus.
I remember it.
Then there is jumping Iude, Heroique Doll,
With bouncing Nan, and Cis, your worship's sinner.

Nim.
All Subsidy women, goe free 'em all.

Parum.
Sir, here's a knowne offender: one that has
Been stockt, and whipt innumerable times,
Has suffer'd Bridewell often, not a Iayle
But hee's familiar with, burnt in the hand,
Forehead, and shoulder, both his eares cut off,
With his nose slit, what shall I doe with him?

Nih.
So often punish'd? nay, if no correction
Will serve his turne; e'en let him runne his course.

Plus.
Here's Mistresse Fraylty too, the waiting woman.

Nim.
For what offence?

Plus.
A sinne of weaknesse too.

Nim.
Let her be strongly whipt,

Plus,
An't please your worship
She has a noble mans letter.

Nim.
Tell her, Plus, she must
Have the Kings Picture too.

Plus.
Besides
She has promis'd me I should examine her
Above i'th' garret.

Nim.
What's all that to me?

Plus.
And she entreats your worship to accept—

Nim.
Nay, if she can entreat in English, Plus,
Say she is injur'd.

Par.
Sir here's Snip the Taylor
Charg'd with a riot.

Nihil.
Parum, let him goe,
He is our Neighbour.

Parum.
Then there is a stranger for quarrelling.

Nihil.
A stranger! o'tis pity
To hurt a stranger, we may be all strangers,
And would be glad to find some mercy Parū.

Plus.
Sir here's a Gentle-woman of S. Ioanes' his
Charg'd with dishonesty.

Nim.
With dishonesty?
Severity will amend her, and yet Plus
Aske her a question, if she will be honest?

Plus.
And here's a coblers wife brought for a scold.

Nim.
Tell her of cooking-stooles, tell her there be
Oyster queanes, with Orange woemen,
Carts, and coaches store, to make a noyse;
Yet if she can speak English
We may suppose her silent.

Par.
Here's a Batchelour
And a Citizens wife for flatt Adultery;
What will you doe with them?

Nih.
A Citizens wife!
Perchance her husband is grown impotent,
And who can blame her then?

Par.
Yet I hope you'l bind o're the Batchelour.

Nih.
No: enquire
First if he have no wife, for if the Batchelour
Have not a wife of his owne, 'twas but frailty;
And Iustice counts it veniall.

Plus.
Here's one Adicus,
And Sophron, that doe mutually accuse
Each other of flat fellony!

Nim.
Of the two which is the richer?

Plus.
Adicus is the richer.

Nim.
Then Sophron is the thief.

Plus.
Here is with all,
Panourgus come with one calld Prodotes,
Lay treason Sir to one anothers charge;
Panourgus is the richer.

Nim.
Hee's the Traytour then.

Plus.
How Sir the richer?

Nim.
Thou art ignorant Plus;
We must doe some injustice for our credit,
Not all for gaine.

Plus.
Eutrapeles complains Sir,
Bomolochus has abus'd him.

Nim.
Send Eutrapeles to th'Iayle.

Plus.
It is Eutrapeles that complaines Sir.

Nim.
Tell him we are pleas'd to think 'twas he offended.
Will must be law: wer't not for Summum Ius,
How could the land subsist?

Colax.
I, or the Iustices
Maintaine themselves—goe on—The Land wants such
As dare with rigor execute her Lawes:
Her festred members must be lanc't and tented.
Hee's a bad Surgeon, that for pitty spares
The part corrupted, 'till the Gangrene spread,
And all the body perish; he that's mercifull
Vnto the bad, is cruell to the good.
The Pillory must cure the eares disease;
The stocks the foots offences; let the backe
Beare her own sinne, and her ranke blood purge forth
By the Phlebotomy of a whipping post:
And yet the secret, and purse punishment
Is held the wiser course; because at once
It helpes the vertuous and corrects the vitious.
Let not the sword of Iustice sleepe and rust
Within her velvet sheath; preserve her edge,
And keepe it sharpe with cutting. Vse must whet her,
Tame mercy is the brest that suckles vice,
Till Hydra like she multiply her heads.
Tread you on sinne, squeeze out the Serpents braines,
All you can finde—for some have lurking holes
Where they lye hid. But there's within a glasse
Will shew you every close offenders face.

Nim.
Come Plus let's goe in to finde out these concealements;
We will grow rich, and purchase honour thus—
I mean to be a Baron of Summum Ius.

Exit. Ni. Plus.
Parum.
You are the strangest man, you will acknowledge
None for offendors, here's one apprehended
For murther.

Nihil.
How!

Par.
He kill'd a man last night.

Nih.
How cam't to passe.

Par.
Vpon a falling out.

Nih.
They shall be friends I'le reconcile 'em Parum.

Par.
One of them is dead.

Nih.
Is he not buried yet?

Par.
No Sir.

Nih.
Why then I say they shall shake hands.

Col.
As you have done
With Clemency, most Reverend Iustice Nihil;
A gentle mildnesse thrones it selfe within you.
Your Worship would have justice, use her ballance
More then her sword; nor can you endure to dye
The robe she weares, deep scarlet, in the blood
Of poore offendors: How many men hath rigour
By her too hasty, and severe proceedings
Prevented from amendment, that perchance
Might have turn'd honest and have prov'd good Christians?
Should Iove not spare his thunder, but as often
Discharge at us, as we dart sins at him,
Earth would want men, and he himselfe want armes,
And yet tire Vulcan, and Pyracmon too.
You imitate the Gods! and he sins lesse
Strikes not at all, then he strikes once amisse.
I would not have justice too falcon-eyed;
Sometimes a wilfull blindnesse much becomes her;
As when upon the bench she sleepes and winkes
At the transgressions of Mortality:
In which most mercifull posture I have seene
Your pittifull Worship snorting out pardons
To the despairing sinner: there's within
A Mirrour sir like you! goe see your face
How like Astreas 'tis in her own Glasse.

Par.
And I'le petition Iustice Nimi's Clerke
To admit me for his under officer.

Exeunt.

Scen. 4.

Agroicus.
Rosc.

This is Agroicus, a rustique clownish fellow, whose
discourse is all Country; An extreame of urbanity, whereby
you may observe there is a vertue in jesting.

Agro.

They talke of witty discourse, and fine conceits,
and I ken not what a deale of prittle prattle would
make a Cat pisse to heare 'em. Cannot they be content
with their Grannams English? They thinke they talke
learnedly, when I had rather heare our brindled curre
howle, or Sow grunt. They must be breaking of jests
with a murraine, when I had as live heare 'em breake
wind Sir reverence! My zonne Dick is a pretty Bookish
Scholar of his age, God blesse him; he can write and
read, and makes bonds, and bills, and hobligations,
God save all. But by'r lady, if I wotted it would make
him such a Iacksauce, as to have more wit then his
vore-vathers, he should have learn'd nothing for old
Agroicus, but to keepe a Tally. There is a new trade

lately come up to be a vocation, I wis not what; they
call 'em—Boets, a new name for Beggars I think, since
the statute against Gypsies. I would not have my zon
Dick one of those Boets for the best Pig in my stye by
the mackins: Boets? heau'n shield him, and zend him
to be a good Varmer; if he can cry hy, ho, gee, hut, gee,
ho, it is better I trow then being a Poet. Boets? I had
rather zee him remitted to the jayle, and haue his
twelve God-vathers, good men and true contemne
him to the Gallowes; and there see him vairely persecuted.
There is Bomolochus one of these Boets, now a
bots take all the red-nose tribe of 'em for Agroicus!
he does so abuse his betters! well 'twas a good world,
when I virst held the Plow!

Col.
They car'd not then so much for speaking well
As to mean honest, and in you still lives
The good simplicity of the former times:
When to doe well was Rhetorique, not to talke.
The tongue disease of Court spreads her infections
Through the whole Kingdome, flattery, that was wont
To be confin'd within the virge, is now
Grown Epidemicall, for all our thoughts
Are borne between our lips: The heart is made
A stranger to the tongue; as if it us'd
A language that she never understood.
What is it to be witty in these daies,
But to be bawdy, or prophane, at least
Abusive? Wit is grown a petulant waspe,
And stings she knows not whom, nor where, nor why;
Spues vinegar, and gall on all she meets
Without distinction—buyes laughter with the losse
Of reputation, father, kinsman, friend;
Hunts Ord'naries only to deliver
The idle Timpanies of a windy braine,
That beats and throbs above the paine of child-bed,
Till every eare she meets be made a midwife
To her light Bastard-issue, how many times
Bomolochus sides, and shoulders ake, and groane!
Hee's so witty—here he comes—away—

Agro.
His wit is dangerous and I dare not stay.

Exit.

Scen. 5.

Bomolocus.
Rosc.

This is the other extreame of Vrbanity; Bomolocus
a fellow conceited of his own wit, though indeed it be nothing
but the base dreggs of scandall, and a lumpe of most
vile and loathsome scurrility.

Bird.
I, this is he we lookt for all the while!
Scurrility! here she hath her impious throne,
Here lies her heathenish dominion,
In this most impious cell of corruption;
For 'tis a Purgatory, a meere Limbo,
Where the black Divell and her damme Scurrility
Doe rule the rost; fowle Princes of the aire!
Scurrility! that is he that throweth scandalls,
Soweth, and throweth scandalls, as 'twere durt
Even in the face of holinesse, and devotion.
His presence is contagious, like a dragon
He belches poison forth, poison of the pit,
Brimstone, hellish and sulphureous poyson:
I will not stay, but fly as farre as zeale
Can hurry me—the roofe will fall and braine me,
If I endure to heare his blasphemies,
His gracelesse blasphemies.

Rosc.
He shall vent none here;
But stay, and see how justly we have us'd him.

Flow.
Stay brother, I doe find the spirit grow strong.

Col.
Haile sacred wit!—Earth breeds not Baies enough
To crowne thy spatious merit.

Bomo.
Oh—Oh—Oh.

Col.
Cratinus, Eupolis, Aristophanes,
Or whatsoever other wit did give
Old Comedies the raines, and let her loose
To stigmatize what brow she pleas'd with slander
Of people, Prince, Nobility—All must yeeld
To this Triumphant braine!

Bomo.
Oh—Oh—Oh.

Col.
They say you'l loose a friend before a jest;
'Tis true, there's not a jest that comes from you,
That is the true Minerva of this braine,
But is of greater value then a world
Of friends, were every prayre of men we meet
A Pylades and Orestes.

Bomo.
Oh—Oh—Oh.

Col.
Some say you will abuse your Father too,
Rather then loose the opinion of your wit,
Who would not that has such a wit as yours?
'Twere better twenty Parents were expos'd
To scorne and laughter, then the simplest thought
Or least conceit of yours, should dye abortive,
Or perish a braine-Embrio.

Bomo.
Oh—oh—oh—

Col.
How's this? that tongue growne silent that syrens
Stood still to admire?

Bomo.
Oh—oh—oh.—

Cola.
Twere better that the spheares should loose their harmony,
And all the Choristers of the wood grow hoarse!
What wolfe hath spied you first?

Bomo.
Oh—oh—oh.—

Cola.
Sure Hermes envying that there was on earth
An eloquence more then his, has struck you dumb!
Malitious deitie!

Bomo.
Oh—oh—oh—oh.—

Cola.
Goe in sir there's a Glasse that will restore
That tongue, whose sweetnesse Angels might adore.

Bomo.
Oh—oh—oh—oh—oh—oh—oh—

Exit.
Rosc.
Thus Sir you see how we have put a gagge
In the licentious mouth of base scurrility;
He shall not Ibis-like purge upward here,
To infect the place with pestilentiall breath;
Wee'le keepe him tongue-tide; you and all I promise
By Phœbus and his daughters, whose chast zones
Were never yet by impure hands untied
Our language shall flow chast, nothing sound here
That can give just offence to a strict eare.

Bird.
This gagge hath wrought my good opinion of you

Flow.
I begin to think 'em lawfull recreations.

Colax.
Now there's none left here, wheron to practise,
I'le flatter my deare selfe—o that my skill
Had but a body, that I might embrace it,
Kisse it, and hugge it, and beget a brood,
Another brood of pretty skills upon it!
Were I divided I would hate all beauties,
And grow enamour'd with my other halfe!
Selfe-love, Narcissus, had not been a fault,
Hadst thou, instead of such a beauteous face,
Had but a braine like mine: I can guild vice,
And praise it into Alchymie, till it goe
For perfect gold, and cozen almost the touchstone.
I can perswade a toad into an oxe,
Till swel'd too bigge with my Hyperboles
She burst asunder; and 'tis vertues name
Lends me a maske to scandalize her selfe.
Vice, if it be no more, can nothing doe;
That art is great makes vertue guilty too.
I have such strange varieties of colours,
Such shift of shapes, blew Proteus sure begot me
On a Camelion, and I change so quick
That I suspect my mother did conceive me,
As they say Mares doe, on some wind or other.
I'le peepe to see how many fooles I made
With a report of a miraculous Glasse.
—Heaven blesse me, I am ruin'd! o my braine
Witty to my undoing, I have jested
My selfe to an eternall misery.
I see leane hunger with her meager face
Ride poast to overtake me, I doe prophesie
A Lent immortall: Phœbus I could curse
Thee and thy brittle gifts, Pandora's box
Compar'd with this might be esteem'd a blessing.
The Glasse which I conceiv'd a fabulous humour
Is to the height of wonder prov'd a truth.
The two Extreames of every Vertue there
Beholding how they either did exceed,
Or want of just proportion, joyn'd together,
And are reduc'd into a perfect Meane:
As when the skilfull and deep learn'd Physitian
Does take two different poisons, one that's cold
The other in the same degree of heate,
And blend's them both to make an Antidote;
Or as the Lutanist takes Flats and Sharpes,
And out of those so dissonant notes, does strike
A ravishing Harmony. Now there is no vice
'Tis a hard world for Colax: What shift now?
Dyscolus doth expect me—since this age
Is growne too wise to entertaine a Parasite,
I'le to the Glasse, and there turne vertuous too,
Still strive to please, though not to flatter you.

Bird.
There is good use indeed-la to be made
From their Conversion.

Flow.
Very good insooth—la
And edifying.

Rosci.
Give your eyes some respite.
You know already what our Vices be,
In the next Act you shall our Vertues see.

Exeunt.